Jihad
by Seselian
Summary: Okay, first off, this isn't about the Jihad, but in Arabic, Jihad translates to 'striving' I basically called it this to get peoples atention. SEND ME TITLE IDEAS, PLEASE! The story is about why Joren is so nasty. Basically his life story. R and R!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER(Pay attention, 'cuz I'm only gonna do it once!!!)- Joren and most all of the other characters are property of Tamora Pierce, I am not Tamora Pierce, have no connection to Tamora Pierce, blah blah blah *Gasp*   
  
~ Chapter One ~  
  
  
"Block!"   
  
Joren scrambled to block the jab coming at his chest, but his sword was knocked from his hand by a well-timed swipe from his father's blade. It fell to the ground, raising a cloud of dust as his father's own sword snaked up to lightly touch his throat, tickling his neck, but not- quite- breaking the skin.  
  
"You'd have been dead if I'd had wanted you to be," Joren's father remarked, lowering his weapon. Joren stared at his feet- and the sword so easily knocked from his hand.   
  
"A real enemy will want you to be dead," his father continued. "When you go to the palace, you will learn to be a knight of Tortall. The fief of Stone Moutain has gained honor over the years, and I will not be ashamed of my only son!" His eyes flashed with anger as he glared at his son, that ridiculous long blonde hair shielding Joren's face from being read as he gazed at his feet.  
  
Joren had never taken the name of Stone Mountain seriously. The knights of Tortall had to be kept pure. Old, noble families. Male knights. His blood practically boiled as he thought of that girl from Trebond. She'd gained a shield. A female as a knight!   
  
Sighing, Burchard of Stone Mountain raised his sword again. "Guard."  
  
Joren watched the servant boys as they fenced with sticks in the yard and sighed. 'Shamed by my only son...' The words kept running through his head. His father was ashamed of him.  
  
The lesson hadn't gotten any better. He seemed to trip over his own feet whenever he tried to block, and fall flat on his face when he tried a jab.  
  
He stared in hatred at his sword, which was lying on his bed. Crossing the room, he picked it up, weighing it in his hands.  
  
No, it wasn't so heavy.   
  
He swung at an imaginary opponent. His father wouldn't be ashamed of him. He jabbed at the opponent. In fact, he'd do better than that. In two years, when he went to the palace, he would be better than any of the pages.   
  
With one last swing of the sword, he left for the practice court. He wouldn't make his father ashamed. The name of Stone Mountain would lose no honor on his account! 


	2. Chapter 2

~ Chapter 2 ~  
  
The boy practiced with a concentration and determination uncommon to first year pages. He spun and dodged as he traded blows with an imaginary opponent, his sword flashing as it whistled through the air.  
  
Even Lord Wyldon could barely pick out the standard sword drills as he watched- a jab, block, downward stroke, parry- a basic beginner's routine, perfected and speeded up until the blade could hardly be seen as it flashed in and out, over, up, and sideways....  
  
The boy stopped, pushing his white blond hair out of his eyes and catching his breath. It was a few moments before he noticed Lord Wyldon standing a few yards from him, watching.  
  
"What's your name, page?" Wyldon asked.  
  
"Joren of Stone Mountain," the boy replied.  
  
Wyldon studied the boy a moment. His white blond hair reached his shoulders, and his pale skin and blue eyes almost made him look like an angel. Almost. But there was something in those eyes. A glint of something leaked from beneath those lashes. And the set of his mouth was determined.... And something else, something Lord Wyldon couldn't quite put his finger on.  
  
"Your father was Bruchard?"  
  
The boy- Joren- stiffened, almost imperceptibly. "Yes.... Sir."  
  
"A good student," Lord Wyldon remarked. "I hope you follow in his footsteps." He walked away, leaving Joren watching his retreating back. He couldn't have known the expression- almost one of hate- on the boy's face.  
  
****  
  
iDear Father,  
Well, here I am, finally at the palace. Lord Wyldon said you were a good student. He said to follow in your footsteps.  
I've been practicing with my sword. Our regular schedule starts tomorow.  
Tell mother hello.  
Love,  
Joren   
  
It would work. It showed none of the bitterness he felt toward his father.  
  
Except... He blotted out the 'love' until it was simply signed 'Joren.'  
  
Nodding in satisfaction, he put the letter in an envelope and dripped some wax onto it, firmly pressing the Stone Mountain Family Crest onto the seal.  
  
He had always been able to keep any emotions out of his letters, he'd be able to do it as a page, and a squire. Tear stains don't mark the parchment if the tears are never shed.   
  
  
Awww. Poor Joren. I feel sorry for him, though I doubt anyone else feels anythingas a result of my writing other than an urge to throw their computer out a tenth story window and have it land on me. Review and tell me. Or make up your own. Maybe I'll start a "What you feel like doing when you read an extremely bad fic" story. Be Creative!!! Yay! (I'm nuts) 


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